Eye of Reason
by taco's bell
Summary: -Harry believes in a very different Frost.- When they actually meet, he cannot differentiate between disappointment and relief. ("You don't look menacing," Harry says, disappointed. Jack contemplates over the compliment.)
1. Chocolate Coins

-Harry believes in a very different Frost.- When they actually meet, he cannot differentiate between disappointment and relief. "Faith is all he has now." [Slow-paced]

* * *

_"The way to see by Faith is to shut the** Eye of Reason**."- _Benjamin Franklin.

* * *

Harry exists. It is a fact in its most simplest form. He cannot recall the moment of his birth, and that is normal. Except, he cannot remember anything after either. The oldest memory he owns is of him shivering in the cold, too thin robes sliding around his skeletal arms. He remembers breathing. Remembers seeing his breath fan out in front of him. And nothing else.

Harry exists. That is important, he understands. That is what he must hold on to, he realizes. Nothing else. And yet, he wants to believe, too. Believe he once too had a home, a family, friends, the warmth that strikes him as foreign. Believe, because faith is keeping him alive; keeps his _existence _real.

He exists; this fact fills his head, keeps him level-headed on the earth. When he threatens to doze off, slip away, he is brought back by that statement. He _exists._ It is the tug of his heart every moment, a dull spark in the hands, the excitement bright in the children.

"Harry Potter," they whisper, as if sharing a dirty secret, before the flush in their cheeks threaten to choke them, and smile.

"Harry Potter," he repeats, because they believe Harry is Harry, so he is Harry, because what is he without faith? They say he has a scar, and he does. They say he has messy hair, and Harry pats it absentmindedly. They say he is a hero, and Harry is brave.

"Harry Potter," they say, over the spilled secrets in paper, over popcorn, eyes glued to the screen. Harry Potter, he knows, and smiles. Harry knows nothing but belief, exists by nothing but faith, and when the rest of his mind is unoccupied what is one to do? So Harry learns to believe too.

Harry is a very simple-minded guy. When he believes something, he believes in it with all his heart, his mind. He abandons it just as easily. But Harry believes, for what is he without faith?

* * *

The streets are alight with sneering pumpkins, orange and bright, and Harry does not like the look. Monsters hide behind ever corner, hands curled around little bags with treats; they smile with bloody teeth and ask for candy. Harry does not like Halloween. He always feel weak on that day, like he is wavering between existing and not.

"Look, Mommy, it's Harry Potter!" Carefully, Harry stills and turns around. A chubby finger is directed towards him, wide eyes, and plump cheeks.

A woman tugs at the boy's hand, kneeling, and says, "It's not polite to point, honey. Especially at the Boy Who Lived." The boy gasps, retracting his hand, and stares at the ground in anxiousness and shame. The woman leads him over to Harry, offering an indulgent smile.

Harry grins, kneeling next to the boy, and taps his shoulder. The boy peeks up from wet lashes, and Harry says, "My name is Harry, what is your name?"

"Fred!" the boy exclaims, giddy.

"Right," Harry says, "Nice to meet you, Fred."

Fred giggles, and pauses as if contemplating something, before fishing into his bag. He picks out a lollipop, presents it to Harry. Bemused, Harry accepts it.

"Thank you," Harry says, humble.

"You're welcome!" Fred shouts, and laughs. The woman checks her wrist, clears her throat.

"Freddie, we need to leave if we're going to make it in time. I'm sure Harry is busy as well."

The boy pouts, but complies. "Bye, Harry!"

He waves them off, watching their retreating backs thoughtfully. The lollipop is warm and tasty.

* * *

–

Harry is lounging in the forest when he first meets the Leprechaun.

The trees are not as tall as he'd like, too green for his tastes, but the wood comforts him all the same. He hears a shuffling not a few feet away, and falters. There is a rustle of leaves, and a slight menacing giggle. A tiny shoe tips out, and Harry blinks at the small figure sneering at him, bright red hair shaded by a tiny green hat.

Green eyes twinkle at him, and Harry grows uneasy.

"What do we have here?" The voice is a heavy kind of high, pitched to a painful degree, and Harry winces. The thing reminds him of a toad.

"A trespasser, if I dare say." The thing narrows his eyes, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Or, dare I hope, someone who made it to the end of the rainbow?"

"No matter, no matter," the thing says when Harry does not answer, waving a hand impatiently, and with a flick of his wrist, a parchment appears, attached with a quill. "You want a wish, yes?"

"A wish?" Harry echoes, confused.

"Tch. Annoying boy. Do you not know the contract of the Leprechaun?" When Harry stares blankly, the thing gives a heavy sigh.

"I'm the Leprechaun, yadayadayada, you sign this, I grant wish, you give me gold, got it?" He jumps over to Harry, smacks the parchment into his face. Harry grabs it before he receives another hit.

"Aren't the leprechauns supposed to be the one with the gold?" Harry doesn't like it when something he believes in is not real.

"Where do you think I get it from? Now hurry up, boy, don't got all day."

Harry surveys the bold letters carefully. There are only a few sentences, most pertaining to the exchange of a wish for gold.

"Where's the ink?"

The leprechaun sighs again, stabs the quill into Harry's wrist. The blood wells up and the leprechaun tips the edge of the quill into it, before offering it to Harry. Harry frowns, but takes it. How unsanitary.

His signature is slow, and edgy. The Leprechaun is not impressed.

When he finishes the last letter the leprechaun snatches it with a flourish, examines the print before grinning.

"Alright, then, boy. State your wish."

Harry falters. He has only ever existed, he doesn't need anything else. Anyone else.

"I wish for gold."

The Leprechaun looks annoyed, and prompts, "Not sure you want anything else?"

"I need gold to pay you," Harry answers, brows furrowed.

"Yes, yes, but the _quantity_, me boy. How much?"

"Enough to pay you."

"Why are you wishing then?" The Leprechaun hisses, and with a snap of his fingers, a pile of gold coins shower at Harry's feet. Harry blinks, leans down to inspect one. Carefully, he bites it. The wrapping yields to his teeth, and Harry flicks his tongue out at the chocolate, spits out the golden wrapper.

"This isn't gold."

"You never specified," the Leprechaun smirks, before sighing, beckoning him over. "Give me my gold."

Harry kicks the pile of chocolate gold to the small figure.

"Careful!" the Leprechaun hisses, smacking his feet, "This is my lunch, y'know, stay down."

Harry sighs, kneels down to the Leprechaun's height while he snacks on the candy.

"What are you?"

"Leprechaun," the small man answers, mouth working around a mouthful of chocolate.

"No- I mean, um," he searches for a word while the Leprechaun studies him.

"I'm not a psychic, you're going to have to talk," the Leprechaun says.

"Do you exist?" Harry ventures, and backtracks. "I mean, do you exist because people believe?"

"Ah," the Leprechaun says, nodding along, "I see where you're going with this. Tell you what." Red hair leans forward, a coy smile lighting his face. "I'll tell you in return for a wish."

"What do you mean?"

The Leprechaun grunts, impatient. "Wish for some food. A leprechaun's gotta eat."

"No catches?"

"No catches," the Leprechaun promises. "Your wishing for food is your payment for information."

"Alright," Harry says, slowly, before signing the document the Leprechaun provides him with. He wishes for a banquet and before his eyes, the delightful leprechaun summons a table of gourmet dishes.

Later, the Leprechaun dabs a napkin at his lips, smiling in content.

"I haven't fed like that in ages," the Leprechaun says, "I owe you my thanks, Potter."

"You can thank me by asking my earlier question," Harry says drily, having waited for hours.

"Ah, yes." The Leprechaun clears his throat. "I certainly _survive_ off belief, but it's not _necessary, _understand?"

"Not entirely, no."

The Leprechaun sighs, before settling on a mound of dead leaves, snatching a twig. "Let me explain in simple terms so a dull minded individual like you can understand." Harry frowns at the insult, but ignores it to lean closer.

"I was the Leprechaun before Man was even aware of leprechauns, alright? Unfortunately, my kind died off a long time ago, though I don't know how. They were a dumb lot. I live by casting wishes. As you can see, I cannot conjure my own food."

"Why don't you just get it without magic?"

"It's not magic," the Leprechaun snaps. "Are you mad? I'd be killed as soon as I was spotted."

"How do you expect to get food and wishes?"

"They have to come of their own accord, you twat. And this is a solitary environment, there's not going to be a lot. The worst is they come home and make up stories. But I digress. The point is, I'm _special_ than the rest of you. Or rather, just a small handful." Harry frowns, bemused.

"You were a child of Man before, weren't you?"

"Yes," Harry enunciates, since he is not so sure himself.

"I can smell it on you," the Leprechaun sniffs at Harry's hesitant reply. "Essentially, you are dead, despite the 'rebirth'. Your kind _needs _belief to even exist, it's how the system works."

"And if people stop believing?"

The Leprechaun smiles, simpers, "Well, it's best not to think too far ahead."

Harry quiets for a moment. "There are more?"

"Of course," the Leprechaun says, curious. "Have you never met any other?"

"Just you."

"Curious," the Leprechaun answers, giving him a speculative glance. "Must be daft," he declares, and Harry twitches.

"I'll tell you what, boy. You come here and make wishes for me to eat, and in return, I show you the world you've been missing."

"Fine," Harry says. It's not like anyone's missing him.

(Except for the children, but they have books and movies, and no, Harry's not really needed. Just the fact that he exists is enough to keep the faith alive).

* * *

The Leprechaun does not lie, and he shows Harry a world he never knew existed (all he's been aware of is Children, and their Belief). A world of merrows, fairy animals, so much vibrant _life_ Harry has to take a moment and _look_, or he might miss it.

"Do children believe in you?" He asks a mermaid lounging on a rock in the lake.

"It's a freshwater one," the Leprechaun intones listlessly, to which the mermaid shoots him an angry look.

"I'll have you know me parents were from the ocean," she sniffs, turning to Harry. Harry notes the accent.

"Do you mean sailor children? Never met one."

"Ah," Harry says, pity marring his features.

"Skip your legs, Potter. I hear freshwater ones poison the drinking water."

"If you're idiotic enough to drink from the lake. I poison." Harry backs away at her physical appearance, darkened features, scales rustling. She softens at his retreat.

"Apologies. Come back later, boy, without the Red Man."

Harry nods while the Leprechaun scowls darkly.

…

"What is your actual name?"

The Leprechaun pauses in stuffing the corn bread in his mouth, swallows.

"My name is too complex for your tongue," he says, and seems to mull over the thought. "I suppose you may call me Patty."

Harry laughs, and Patty frowns.

…

Harry is hanging out with the freshwater mermaid (_"My name is very long," she said simply, "your tongue will mispronounce. Call me Aegean." Harry thought that in itself was a mini tongue twister as well, and was a little put off at his poor tongue) _when he first hears of the Guardians.

"It shall be winter, soon," Aegean comments casually, elbows drawn on a boulder, tail flickering to splash some water onto Harry's spectacles. Harry waves it away with weak magic.

"What of it?"

"It'll be Christmas, and joy to the world will commence."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Have you not heard of Santa, Harry?"

"Santa?" Harry echoes, searching his memory. "Santa at the North Pole?"

"Yes," Aegean smiles.

"You like Christmas?" Harry asks.

"I enjoy the view," Aegean says, and Harry wonders.

"The stars," she elaborates, "are very bright on Christmas. Colorful. I cannot see stars in the sea. Blurry."

"I see," Harry says. Aegean's eyebrows draw together.

"Hopefully, no Guardian business will slow him down for this year."

"Guardian business?"

"The Guardians," Aegean says. "are a group fighter. They protect Children of world."

Harry blinks, interested.

"They protect Children?"

"Yes," Aegean nods, "they are most popular among Children. Except for new one."

"Who's that?"

"I don't remember the name, but he is handsome lad, I heard."

Harry muses, and watches the stars.

Harry enters the tree, closing the door behind him softly.

"Oho, so the man has decided to come home. Has he forgotten his duties, hmm? Some starving handsome leprechaun waiting to eat, hmm?"

Harry regards Patty with a deadpan look. "Why didn't you grab a mushroom from outside?"

"Because," Patty says condescendingly, "it is harmful to my _health._ The faeries will kill me if I touch it anyways. Inter-specie relations aren't very solid at the moment, I'm afraid."

Harry doesn't ask. Instead, he ducks under the short roof, grabs the blank parchment on the table, and scribbles 'banquet' and his signature on it. Patty is most helpful when full.

"Who are the Guardians?"

Patty chews on his bone, spits it out. "A group of justice fighters, or something. They're not very fun."

"I'm guessing your relation with them isn't very solid, either?" Harry inquires, rolling his eyes.

"I resent your tone," Patty drawls, snatching another leg from the half-empty bowl, "And I'll have you know, I am at a neutral tone with most of them. The humans, at the very least."

"They're humans?"

"Used to be. Like you," Patty says, ripping a slab of skin from his chicken leg, and throwing it in his mouth. Licks his fingers. Harry watches in disgust.

"I'm fond of the Frosty one," Patty says, grinning, "He caused a blizzard on Easter, did you know? Of course you don't. Unfortunately, they became all buddy buddy ever since he joined them, how _boring_."

"Who?"

Patty's face twists. "The Easter Bunny. He used to be a Pooka, and now he's just living as an egg-collector. Boring."

"I'm envious," Harry says, watches Patty carefully who reacts to the words with a barely concealed sneer.

"Don't be. They're just worshiped by humans. Nothing to be particularly proud of," he sniffs.

"I think you forget I was a human, as well."

"Different," Patty dismisses.

"Right."

"Why are you asking?" The lamp above them shakes, and Harry rights it before answering.

"Aegean mentioned them before." At the blank look, he elaborates, "The freshwater mermaid."

"Figures," Patty says, pats his full belly. "They're not a good lot," he warns, "the humans worship them."

Bitterness accompanies the statement, and if Harry notices, he doesn't say. (The Children worship him too, and if Patty notices, he doesn't say.)

* * *

**A/N: **When I say slow-paced, I mean Harry won't meet Jack in the first chapter. Otherwise, full speed ahead! **If** there is a pairing involving Harry, it will be Jack/Harry, hands down. Leprechaun will be a major character (at least for Harry, regarding the plot: eh). He is my favorite character and I am very disappointed he only gets a brief mention in the movie by Bunnymund. **All zat history~** Hope you enjoyed. Reviews would be adored! :)


	2. First Steps

"_Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the _**first step**_." ~ _Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

Legends and myths are Harry's reality now, except whenever he meets them, they are not what he expects. He blinks at the ghastly girl in front of him, golden hair swept across her pale face.

"Hello," Harry starts, "who are you?"

She wavers in front of him, blinks. Harry doesn't know what to make of that. Instead, he quietly bows his head, and continues on his way to Patty's tree. She follows, and he notes how her feet seem too light, too airy. She makes a point not to look at him, and Harry sighs. When he enters, Patty doesn't look up from his meal.

"How did you get that?" Harry asks, sitting down to look at the unfamiliar dishes. He pokes the strange brown glob in front of him.

"The fairies," Patty grumbles, shoveling food in as if the world were ending. Harry rips off some of the brown glob substance and chews on it as he turns to look at the girl. The sweetness sours his tongue, and Harry swallows quickly.

"I thought you weren't on stable ground with them," Harry says, cocks his head to the side when the woman gives Patty a hard stare.

"Business is business," Patty says, and tenses. Slowly, he looks up at the girl. He starts, jumps from his chair, red hair bristling. He cowers behind the chair, and Harry leans over to look at him, amused.

"What is _she _doing here?" Patty hisses, eyes intent on Harry.

"She followed me home," Harry says, slowly.

"_You!" _Patty straightens, notices her staring, and squats back down. "Are you _outside of your mind?_ That's a _banshee."_

"What?"

"Just- out. Get her out of here," Patty snaps, hands slamming down on his ears. Harry sighs, but complies.

"Hello," he says, waves his hand in front of the woman's face. Her eyes never flicker from the chair Patty is behind.

"Um, it's getting late. Why don't you go home, now?" Harry says, shifting in front of her view. She blinks at Harry's chest, before turning around, drifting out of the doorway. Harry stares after her back until she's out of view, closes the door.

"Is she gone?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

Patty stands up, giving a forlorn look to his unfinished meal. "My appetite is finished. Are you happy? Just when I got some nice food too."

"What was that about?"

Patty runs a hand over his face, tired. "A banshee- far from home. I don't know what she's doing so far from Ireland," Patty says, looks away and stares at the table for a moment. Strangely enough, he looks guilty.

"Aren't banshees usually loud?" Harry prompts, and Patty's face pinches.

"Yes, and they're bad news. Stay away from them, Potter, if you want to live."

Harry grins. "If you're concerned, you just have to tell me."

"Yes," Patty drawls, "My main source to e_at._ Is it a wonder I don't want you to disappear?"

"Don't make it sound so degrading," Harry admonishes, and turns thoughtful. "Although, I don't see how she can make me go away. I live because of belief, don't I?"

"You are still Child of Man. When you stop stinking of them, you can go gallop in cemeteries." Patty clears his throat, reaches for his cup of water.

"A cemetery? I found her standing in the forest."

Patty chokes, pounds his chest as he coughs. Finally, in a high pitch, "Was she near here?"

"Close enough."

Patty's eyes widen comically, before he exhales. "Whenever they scream someone dies." His eyes meet Harry's.

"It's always a mortal, though."

"Then why are you so concerned?" Harry asks.

"You can't understand. Those mortals, their lineage is _ancient._ Their blood sings. Banshees love them. Their wails will make your ears bleed," Patty says, seriously, pacing.

"Patty," Harry says, frowning, "Did you kill one?"

"No!" Too quickly. Harry glares, suspicious.

"I may have gotten him lost in the forest a few days ago, alright? Not my fault if he can't find his way out."

Harry straightens. "What happens if he dies?"

Patty stills, and for the first time the smile is forced. "Let us not think too far ahead."

"Hey!" Patty protests when Harry runs out the door, but he does not follow.

* * *

It does not take much to find her. She looks different, stark white cobwebs cling to her feet, drag against the dirt as she paces around the clearing. Her silver-gray hair is matted, dirty. Harry catches her eyes for a millisecond. They are red, as if she has been crying for centuries. She is different, but he recognizes her, anyways. She does not falter, only quickens her pace, circling around a small patch of trees.

Careful not to upset her, he stalks into the clearing. A man lays on the dirt, bleeding and cold. A bag of gold is spilled next to him. Harry grimaces at the smell. He kneels next to the figure, and his breathing is too shallow and quiet to calm him. Harry tests his pulse.

A faint comforting beat meets his ears, and Harry sighs, relieved. It is still too slow. He can make out a faint sobbing and he starts. The air is heavy, dense, and the man starts to still underneath cold fingers.

"No," Harry states, as if it'll make a difference. Harry leans in to stare at his wound. It is gaping, bone peeking through red, and Harry closes his eyes for a moment. Faint teeth marks outline the wound. Swallows. He is not medical doctor, he knows nothing of this. But he knows enough to realize when a man is dying. Maybe it's too late. The banshee will scream, and someone will die, and anyone would be scared.

"No," Harry says again, opens his eyes. His voice stutters, and he clears his throat. "No," he enunciates more clearly, because the man cannot die, will not die, _he will live._ Harry rips a patch of fabric from his robe, wraps it around the man's leg in a poor attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"Live," he whispers fiercely. The sobbing has gotten louder. (Nonono, you will not die, cannot die, I won't let you. _Live.)_ The man is cold.

_Live, damn it._

The man doesn't respond, and Harry falls asleep to wails piercing the night.

* * *

"Hey, wake up." Something sharp prods at Harry's face and he starts from sleep. Sunlight filters through the skeletal branches, and Harry sits up.

"Where's the body?" Harry asks, stares at his bloody hands.

"Gone," the Leprechaun says simply, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, "Dumped the body some miles away, on the road. They'll find him."

"The banshee?"

"He didn't die, oddly enough," Patty answers, looking away. "Either way, I got the gold back."

"Why are you just hoarding gold?" Harry announces sharply, annoyed. "You don't even spend it."

"It's not my gold, dunce," Patty answers. "It's the faeries'. I guard it for them."

"Well, you're doing a piss-poor job of it," Harry says, wipes his hand on his shirt, and Patty almost looks guilty.

"Count your blessings," Patty says, "we're just lucky that Frost didn't get to the human."

"I thought you were fond of this 'Frost'?"

"Quite," Patty grins, and stops. "He's becoming a bit of an inconvenience, unfortunately."

"How so?" Harry asks, brushes the debris off his robes.

"Didn't I already say? He joined the Guardians, the goody-two shoe club that all the children like. Pathetic."

_Jealous?_ Harry doesn't say. Instead, "Is that the only reason?"

"Do I require much else?" Patty says drily, but continues. "Frost freezes bodies. It completes the process, from alive to dead. Finalize death, if you will. If I was any later you would've woken up to a cold corpse."

Harry blinks. "How?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Patty snaps, rubbing his face exasperatedly. He straightens.

"There's still some faerie food, if you hurry." Then, a green blur, and the leprechaun is gone. Amused, Harry sits up, rubbing the dried blood on his robes. He is never hungry, but he appreciates the thought all the same.

He ambles back to Patty's tree, thoughtful, feeling the sun warm against his skin. Frost finalizes death, huh? Harry adds a new fairy tale to his mental list of figures.

The thought of cold and death and _the end_, unsettles and excites him with equal measure.

* * *

It's been days, and Harry is still mulling ("Obsessing," Patty says.) over the enigma and horror of Jack Frost. Aegean is never around when he comes to visit, and when he returns, Patty merely shrugs, makes an off-handed comment about freshwater mermaids. Harry decides to ignore it, for both their sakes.

What Harry doesn't understand is _why_ someone-or maybe some_thing_ would be more relevant- would want to join a squad like Guardians, if they killed bodies, or froze them. It is subject he frequents quite often with Patty, who usually offers a deadpan look, before a roll of the eyes.

"If I knew you'd be this giddy over hearing of Frost," Patty says, "I wouldn't have mentioned it."

"Quiet," Harry says, rubbing his temples in what should have been a soothing gesture. "It's just- interesting."

Patty doesn't look convinced, rather doubtful in fact, before ignoring him completely. The leprechaun purses his lips, eyes directed toward the towering dishes.

"It's your turn to clean the dishes," Patty remarks casually, inspects his nails.

Harry doesn't look away from his attention to a cobweb in the corner. "I don't actually eat much, if you haven't noticed. I only eat so you don't feel self-conscious about your weight."

Here, Patty splutters unintelligibly, before scowling. "Don't waste food, then, you idiotic prude."

"Last I checked, I got you food," Harry replies, nonplussed. He is standing now, directly below the cobweb, fixated on the dot of a spider languishing on its throne.

"I've always hated spiders," Harry mutters darkly, and blows. The gust of wind throws the spider off balance, and he falls on Harry's glasses, alert and startled. Harry closes a hand over it quickly, and when he lets his hand fall back down, the spider is gone.

"Did you eat it?" Patty starts incredulously, appetite lost.

Harry throws him a dark look, and Patty wisely shuts up. He settles back on his chair, chin in hand, stares intently at the dishes. Patty doesn't say anything, unfurls a document and pretends Harry is not in the room.

The first shift creates a loud noise, starting Patty out of his bored drawl.

The second Push sends the first plate flying out the window, where it shatters against a tree. The look Patty sends Harry is not appealing, to say the least.

"What did you do?" Narrow eyes.

"Quiet," Harry says, and he is surprised when Patty actually listens, drops his quill, turning his attention to the dishes. Pressure and anxiousness sends the next two plates to the floor. Patty's head swivels to stare, before looking up slowly. Harry clears his throat.

It takes a few more moments, but Harry concentrates, and Pushes, and eventually the plates arrange themselves in some lazy manner of organization in the air. Levitation. The thought steals a few breaths from Harry.

"Well?" Patty prompts. The intrusion almost breaks Harry's hold.

"What."

"What now? Are they _clean?" _

Harry forces himself to calm down before he sends the dishware to the leprechaun's head.

"OW!"

Harry fails.

Harry takes careful steps, slowly. It has been a long time since he has been in the presence of humans, and he is still nervous. They shoot him odd looks, some amused, some pleased, and some confused, but ignore him, and that was good enough for Harry.

They lost all the plates. The cups too. And the mugs. Harry sighs, curses himself for his control, or rather lack of. He doesn't understand _how_ but he understands the _why._ Setting his shoulders, he leaves the shop with less gold coins than he enters with.

Strangely enough, all the new silverware fits in his pocket, and Harry does not question it.

It has started to snow. Harry falters, holds up a pale hand to catch a fluttering snowflake. He doesn't think he's ever seen snow before. Except he remembers what it looks like, so that can't be true. Furrowing his brows, he watches the snow melt in his hand.

It is strange. This cold.

Harry starts at the sound of laughter, and warmth, and turns his head to catch a group of kids throwing snow balls among each other. They smile and grin, and Harry supposes it's an infectious disease, because he smiles too. Before they notice, he continues on his way.

He is a few ways away when the snow ball strikes him in the back. He flinches, startled.

"Jack!" Someone whines, although they sound amused, "He doesn't count!" Some giggles.

Harry straightens when he hears the soft padding of feet trail after him. He turns around to meet warm brown eyes and a shy smile.

"Sorry mister!" The boy says, "My friend's not very smart at his hand-eye coordination."

"Hey! I'm perfectly capable!" Someone protests, and Harry finds himself looking up to silver hair and bright eyes. They widen when Harry meets his gaze. The boy starts too.

Harry blinks.

"Jack," the boy whispers, "I think he can see you."

Harry narrows his eyes. "Jack…Frost?"

"Present," Jack quips, although he looks reserved.

Harry looks over the wooden staff, youthful face, bright eyes, and silver hair. He does not know if the drop in his stomach in disappointment or relief.

"You don't look menacing," Harry says, disappointed.

Frost contemplates over the compliment.

* * *

**A/N: **Warning: This might be a little long. Thanks to anyone who actually reads.

1.) It has come to my attention that _some_ people are rather discouraged by helpful critique and feedback. I realized this when an author called me something akin to a mean grammar officer, which is nothing short of amusing, when I commented on her lack of common grammatical sense and suggested a beta-reader. Even I had to fix a few things in Ch.1 in shame and neglect once I checked again. I just wanted you, my readers, to know that I am not against helpful comments that point out my faults. In fact, I encourage it entirely. Even flames, if it makes you feel better.

2.) I have decided that this will not be Jack/Harry. Sorry to all the disappointed readers! But, not to worry, I have another Jack/Harry story in the making, so watch out for that.

As always, thanks for reading. Reviews would be adored! :).


	3. Breathe

"_Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. You can't see the future, yet you know it will come; you can't see the air, yet you continue to _**breathe**_."- Claire London._

* * *

Jack wavers for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in a fit of bemusement, before offering his reply.

"Thanks, I guess?" he drawls, deciding it was best to take it as a compliment.

Slowly, the deconstruction of a character in Harry's eye. Patty was wrong after all, how prudent. The wind has slowed, Harry notices, sluggish and draping over Frost's hair, silver strands fluttering weakly.

"Don't be," Harry mutters. The boy blinks at him, head cocked to the side, as if struggling to remember where he has seen him.

"You look familiar," the boy says, and Harry turns to him slowly. They boy's eyes widen, reaching a hand over to tug on Jack's sleeve.

"It's Harry Potter," the boy whispers, and Harry is reminded of lollipops and indulgent smiles.

"Who?" Jack repeats, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Harry with something akin to disbelief. Harry should feel mildly insulted but the fact that Jack is nothing as he is _supposed_ to be is insult enough.

"Hey! What's the hold up?" Someone calls out from afar, a tiny figure painted among the whiteness of the snow. The boy turns around, yells something about continuing the game without them and the figure shrugs before turning away.

"What's your name kid?" Jack says, twisting the wooden staff around his fingers easily. Harry is distracted by the movement and Jack stills, eyes bright.

"I just told you it's Harry Potter," the boy murmurs, disgruntled at Jack's blatant doubt. Jack rolls his eyes.

"Harry Potter," Harry answers firmly and ignores Jack's expression.

"So you're some wizard, then? From the movies?"

"The books came first."

Jack rolls his eyes again, "Thank you for your contribution, Jamie. That certainly helped me understand."

The boy, Jamie frowns, almost pouting.

Jack narrows his eyes at Harry for a moment, studying him before repeating, "So you're supposed to be some kind of wizard from a book?"

"It's not a costume, if that's what you want to hear," Harry drawls, tapping his scar idly. Jack's eyes follow the movement before humming, leaning back on his heels. He seems light, Harry notices, like the wind can carry him away.

"You're an interesting kid," Jack says, waving his staff again. The wind breezes through Harry's hair.

"Jack!" someone shouts, bounding closer. "Jamie, we have to go now!"

Jack tips his head to the side, before grinning.

"Well," he drawls cheerfully, "It was nice to meet you, Harry Potter! Hopefully we'll meet again soon." He winks, as if it were some secret, before the wind carries him away, delightful childish laughs following him. Jamie spares him one last glance before he leaves.

The wind plays with his hair and Harry blinks. Jack was certainly not what he expected, but he supposes it wasn't a bad thing. Anyone who can make Children laugh isn't so bad, right?

With this thought in mind, Harry continues on his merry way.

* * *

"I can smell the Wind on you," Patty mutters, chewing thoughtfully.

"You need to get out more," Harry suggests in a teasing manner, "You're getting too pale."

Patty waves him off, lifting his feet onto the table with a terrible clanging of dishes, and Harry sighs. He just got new ones too. Patty squints at Harry, mouth twisted before his face eases.

"You met someone," Patty says, and Harry raises an eyebrow. That was too cheesy. "Not like that, troublesome boy. You met someone." Patty sniffs. "Cold."

"I didn't know you were part-dog," Harry says, lifting the plates with nimble fingers.

"And I didn't know you were related to Stupidity," Patty replies, "Oh, wait. I did."

Harry sighs. Outside, the wind howls against the hollow wood, beating almost as if for entrance. Patty steeples his fingers together expectantly, eyes focused on the walls. Harry ignores the action but finds his fingers curling into a nervous fist all the same.

A furious beat now, like a drum echoed in the head, and the air shook. Harry shakes his head briefly.

It stops. The sudden silence is more disturbing than the noise, or lack of. Patty stills before straightening, narrowing his eyes. A snowball sounds against Harry's head, and Harry knows.

"Frost!" Harry says, furious and rubbing the back of his head. "You _followed_ me here?" On the other side of the room, Patty gives Harry a look. Jack looks unabashed, smirking.

"Well, I _had _to, didn't I? You are the Boy Who Lived after all!" Jack says before muttering to himself. "Or was it the Boy Who Lied?"

"The former," Harry says drily, eying Jack with suspicion. The other boy merely smiles leans his staff on his shoulder.

"So, you're Frost?" Patty is saying, raising one eyebrow in disbelief. "Chirpy one, aren't you."

Jack tilts his head again, like a chirpy bird, and scrutinizes Patty. Light dawns on him a few moments after.

"Surly attitude, red hair, green shoes and all packed into a cute fun size!" Jack says, "You must be the Leprechaun! So nice to meet you." He holds out his hand and Patty ignores it. Jack retracts it casually, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I've heard a lot of _nice_ things about you," Jack continues, trailing along the small space, tracing each aged item with care.

"Oh? I haven't you, unfortunately," Patty retorts, and shoots Harry an annoyed glance.

"Really? The Harbinger of Death-never heard of him?" Jack asks, turning to watch them. Harry frowns and Patty grimaces.

"Yeah, the rumors you've been spreading around aren't exactly nice," Jack says. "I was bound to hear them eventually, so the question is, why would you even want to?"

Patty scowls. "I'm the Leprechaun, what were you expecting? Rainbows and sunshine?"

Jack glances around before looking back to Patty. "Kind of, yeah."

"Well obviously someone needs to catch up on their folklore," Patty says, and Jack's eyes scuttle to Harry's own, who were observing them in confusion.

"I didn't expect to find you here, _Harry_," Jack says, like he's testing the word, "The Leprechaun shouldn't be around little kids. I hear he steals hearts."

Harry shrugs breezily, "No, just food. I don't need it though, so I'm fine."

Jack frowns at the easy reply.

"We don't comply to the 'Man in the Moon'," Patty says, "So sorry if a kid sees me or, pray tell, talk to me."

"You know an awful lot about us for an Outsider," Jack murmurs, leaning forward slightly.

"Last I recall, you were an Outsider yourself just a few weeks ago," Patty says, "And now you think you're better, hmm?"

"Quite the opposite," Jack says, "I envy you. No responsibilities. No duties. Ah, that was the life. Then again, not _anyone_ can keep Children happy, so I'll have to stay with my job, thanks."

Harry rolls his eyes and Patty sneers.

Jack just chuckles, and sits down in the homely seat, as if he were going to stay a while. The wind dulls to a gentle breeze.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, stupid ending and too short length but at least I updated, right? I'm a little rusty, to be honest, but the next chapter should be longer, better, and with more bonding, less nagging. I'm surprised at the amount of you who were anticipating Jack's reaction. It's not as fun as I'd like it, but what can you do? I just started writing again after such a long time (for me). Anyways, on another matter.

I don't know if any of you are familiar with **Rekindling**, but yeah that's my story too. I'm thinking about updating, before I start forgetting the plot completely but I don't know. At this point, I'm more fond of **Eye of Reason**, although it is also losing its spark. Still, if any of you want to drop me a line and tell me which you'd rather have updated, I'll be happy to take it into consideration. Should I put up a poll? It doesn't mean the fic will be updated first, mind you, (I don't really know about **Rekindling** right now) but it'll certainly influence it since I like to write what people will appreciate more.

Reviews would be adored. Sorry for the long wait :).

**Edit: ** s/8798061/1/Rekindling


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